Missing You
by moonlitwanderer
Summary: Summary: It's over two years after Sherlock's fall and John is still feeling the side effects. Can he manage even another day without his best friend? A Johnlock poem! Enjoy :)


**A/N: Summary: It's over two years after Sherlock's fall and John is still feeling the side effects. Can he manage even another day without his best friend? I'm not at all good at poetry so bear with me! If you like this please review/favourite - I would really appreciate it! Enjoy :)**

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Just another day at work, a trip to the shop,

But everything is miserable; the world just seems to stop,

I nip in to buy a pint of milk, a world away from war,

If only those empty till workers could see what I saw,

If only they could see my best friend Martin dying in front of me,

The cheerful light fading from his eyes until he could no longer be,

I hail a cab and all too soon it arrives at Baker Street,

At the flat which not haunts me, but used to make me complete,

As I walk through the hallway, I hear the sounds of laughter past,

It seems like only yesterday, if only time didn't go so fast,

Upon his untouched desk I see his beloved violin,

I can imagine it resting gently underneath his chin,

Elegantly, he plays a tune, it's lilting, delicate, but not long,

The polished bow moves back and forth to the rhythm of the song,

Before long I realise that this tune is my imagination,

I've even wondered recently if he was my own creation,

Upon opening the fridge, I see no signs of the dead,

No fingers, toes, or even tongues, no once living heads,

I wouldn't say I miss it, the chaos, the noise, the... fun,

But I still live for the day he'll rush in and announce, "The game is on!"

I miss his powerful presence when he strode into the flat,

I miss his clever insults hurled this way and that,

I miss the blood pumping through my veins: a sign of the thrill of the chase,

I miss the childlike atmosphere when he was given a case,

Now I stare at the laptop, more specifically my discarded blog,

And peruse through the cases, from 'the Woman' to the dogs,

Quite frankly, I needn't do it; they are now superfluous stories,

About a psychopath who made crimes up so he could get some glory,

I never once believed it, of course; he was my best friend,

In true style, he's never admit I'm his, but I know he'll say it in the end,

Everywhere I go it feels like someone's watching me,

Even in my nightmares, the inky blackness seems to swallow me,

That's another thing that's happened since my best friend's fall,

My sleep comes in fitful nightmares, or I can't sleep at all.

Every time I close my eyes he's burnt inside my soul,

When I do that it almost feels like nothing's changed at all,

Mrs Hudson laboriously walks in, asking if I want dinner,

She seems concerned and I can see why: I've been getting thinner,

As for her, I can see that she has put on tonnes,

I suppose that's the consequence of losing one of your sons,

I wave her away with a heavy sigh and look up the latest stories,

Immediately I close the lid as the current news can bore me,

I haven't touched anything of his, I wouldn't even dare,

Except, I suppose I had to move that lonely, empty chair,

I can't stand to see it person-less, without my skinny man being there,

Squatting, lounging, sitting, lounging... _It's just a stupid chair!_

However, it meant a lot to me so I moved it to the side,

I can't bear to see something empty where my best friend used to abide,

Dull grief washes over me: if only I'd begged him to live,

If only I'd told him that whatever he was, I'd be happy to forgive,

I'd forgive his stupid criminal creations as minor, unimportant sin,

It wouldn't matter as long as I told him that... _I love him,_

If I'd told him how I felt then maybe he'd still be alive,

Maybe because he thought his love was unrequited, he took the dive,

And maybe I'm just being hopeful: how do I know he felt a dime?

I'm just imagining his feelings because I can't even bear mine,

Sharp regret stabs me in the back as I realise what could have been,

But that part of my life is over now, the part with the loving machine,

He was the man who saved me from the unavoidable rope,

He was the man who gave me something to do: he gave me hope,

He gave me laughter, he gave me joy, and he taught me to be alive,

He gifted me with so many things but he didn't realise,

But now he's gone for good, and he's taken away the gifts,

Without my detective by my side, I know that I'm adrift,

I'm nothing without his light; I'm lost in perpetual darkness,

Not even Molly's innocent sunshine can lift me from this mess,

If only he was around, he would comfort me,

His very presence in the room made me happy as can be,

With this in mind, I subconsciously rise from my comfy chair,

The laptop falls to the floor, but do I look like a man who cares?

I will not need it anymore; I'm headed for a better place,

After over two years I'll see him, not in my dreams, face to face,

I quickly say goodbye to the flat and I do not dare to hover,

I know if I linger here too long, I'll be tempted to stay forever,

Quickly, I hail a cab; I can't breathe the London air evenly,

It feels wrong to be here now when my destination is heavenly,

St Bart's roof is where I'll go; best to end it where it all started,

I'll jump off the self-same roof where our two lovers were parted

I realise I haven't left a note, _"That's what people do, don't they?"_

Mrs Hudson will worry about me then she'll cry and cry all day,

What about Molly and Lestrade and, if I'm pushing it, Harry?

Will they even care if I'm gone or will they perhaps be sorry?

They should know that it's not their fault, that I'm going somewhere nice,

But I suppose it's too late now so no note will have to suffice,

I wave this terrible thought away as I pay the cabbie with a tip,

I suppose it's a sort of thank you for running a smooth final trip,

From my earlier days at Bart's, I remember a back way in,

I won't be stopped by anyone and have to tell them where I'm going,

I climb the metal staircase, well, I practically run,

I'm glad that I'll be leaving to the bleeding orange of the setting sun,

When I stand upon the rooftop I glance at a large, brown stain,

So it's true that Moriarty killed himself, never to kill again,

I pass the patch and place my feet one in front of the other,

I stand in his place, feel his presence and gain the strength to go further,

One foot over the edge, I can see a crowd brewing below,

One is calling an ambulance and the other is screaming, "No!"

But it's too late, I can't be saved, the damage has been done,

An ancient voice comes from behind saying, "Step down from there, son,"

I ignore their pleas, look to the sky and spread my arms out wide,

"I have to fall, I have to do this, you don't understand!" I cry,

Suddenly I'm plunging down but I'm not as fast as I thought,

And all I can think of is Mrs Hudson alone at home, distraught,

Then I realise why I'm doing this, why I need to fall,

It is to see my best friend again – or is he something more?

I remember one of his witty lines as I'm filled with elation,

"Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination,"

I close my eyes and he's there, I see it no longer like I'm selfishly dying,

For once, I'm smiling joyfully and at last with him I'm flying,

At last I know for certain that I'll never again be alone,

I'll finally tell him that I love him, that brilliant Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
